by Juno Rushdan
A dark, sinking sensation churned in her stomach. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.” It wasn’t going to end well.
“None of us do.”
“I’ll come in early to help oversee the transfer.”
“No, you’re taking time off. We thought you should know. That’s all. Sanborn is recalling Alastair and Ares. They’ll help. And we’re going to start polygraphing everyone. Listen, get some rest and enjoy your downtime with Lover Boy. When you get back, you’ll be working around the clock until our leak is plugged. Later.” Castle disconnected.
She gritted her teeth and set down the phone.
Cole clutched her hand. “I caught the gist.” His eyes darkened. “This mole is a serious problem. I feel it in the marrow of my bones. Is it always like this, Mads? Your job, your life?”
Inwardly, she winced and braced for some caveman speech about how dangerous her job was and how she shouldn’t be putting her life on the line to get it done. “Yes.”
She watched his muscled chest expand as he took a deep breath like he was winding up to say something she didn’t want to hear.
“Mads—”
“Don’t say it. I don’t want to fight with you and I’m not quitting my job.”
His eyes softened, and he caressed her bruised cheek. “Marry me.”
Her breath stalled, thoughts spinning like a carnival ride.
“I love you. Till the day I die. I want to own my future. The only one possible, with you as my wife. I want to share everything with you, have a family.”
Family? A sudden flash of fear paralyzed her. “What if I can’t have children?” Pressure pounded in her head. “The doctor could’ve been wrong. I might not be able to carry a baby to term. I don’t even know how to squeeze a kid into my life. You shouldn’t be deprived of that.”
She’d sacrificed having a husband, children, happiness, because she’d believed her chance had died with him. But he was alive and should have everything.
“Look at me.” The unyielding hardness of his tone snatched her gaze. “If we have children, it’s because we both want to. We’d find a way to squeeze a kid into our life. Not like I can strap a car seat to a motorcycle. My living room is a freaking gym and I don’t own a dining room table. But we’ll make it work. Together. We’ll see a specialist.” He pressed his palm to her belly, and the touch brought tears to her eyes. “Or adopt. Or we’ll get dogs and spoil them rotten and be those crazy dog people.”
She laughed, letting the image wipe away the sadness.
“We’re going to build a home and a family together. No secrets in our house, no pretending. I’m not promising perfection, but I know we’ll create an atmosphere where we’re safe to be messy, happy, and honest.”
Belief didn’t waffle and creep up on her slowly. It dropped in her gut and detonated with certainty. But she didn’t want him to feel obligated.
“Are you sure you don’t want time to think about who I’ve become and what our lives will look like? Marriage is big. You’ve got me. You don’t have to propose right now.”
“Ask me why I chose Matthews as my last name when I ditched Reznikov.”
Okay, she’d bite. “Why?”
“Because I loved the sound of Maddox Matthews. It has a ring to it, don’t you think?”
A bittersweet smile touched her lips. Her heart swelled, full and light like a balloon, on the verge of bursting from love. A love that had survived against all odds.
“My soul knows yours,” he said. “My heart never stopped beating for you. You’re a phenomenal woman and this butt-kicking super agent—”
“Butt-kicking super operations officer.”
“It really doesn’t roll off the tongue, honey, so I’m sticking with agent. My point is you’re not going to bake cookies for the PTA. And you don’t have to. We’ll define our normal as we go, together. I want you as you are, Maddox. I love you now and always.” Those intense eyes sparkled. “I’m committed to us. No matter what. So, will you marry me?”
They’d never forget the past, all they’d both suffered, but they’d managed the hardest part—forgiveness. What they shared was real and rare. They were better together than apart, belonged to one another, and would find a way to create the life they wanted, even if it wasn’t going to be easy.
“Yes.” She kissed him hard. Quick pecks of joy on his cheeks, nose, along the jagged line of his scar from his brow to the corner of his mouth. “I love you. I want to be your wife.”
He pressed his forehead to hers and stared in her eyes. “For the next two days, I don’t want your mind on the Gray Box. Give me all of you, and I’ll support whatever you have to do.”
If the situation was reversed, she wasn’t sure she could be this understanding. Danger came with her job, and she wasn’t quitting. For him to recognize that and be so supportive meant the world. He was amazing.
The concern regarding Novak and the mole lingered, but Cole was this wonderful buffer. With him, she could get some much-needed space from the work that normally consumed her, compartmentalize her duty, and find balance.
She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, tight and hard. If forty-eight hours of being completely focused on their future, on him, would earn his unconditional support in the monumental task ahead of her, ahead of them all, she was sold.
No negotiation necessary.
“You just made an offer I can’t refuse.”
Epilogue
Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia
10:06 p.m. EDT
The door to the secure holding room opened. Someone brought Aleksander a cup of black coffee, placed a box of doughnuts on the table, and left without a word. It’d taken long enough.
Three doughnuts were in the Krispy Kreme box. He would’ve inhaled anything but sighed with relief none were chocolate.
He took a ravenous bite into a glazed doughnut. The rush of sugar and carbohydrates gave him a jolt of much-needed energy. Stretching his neck, he sipped the coffee and gagged.
The American brew was horrid. Bitter and grainy.
A smooth Italian espresso would be better. At least it was piping hot. He took a big gulp and set the cup down.
Hopefully, they’d given his son proper sustenance, maybe a sandwich and some soup.
He’d gladly give those agents all the information he had if it meant he and Val would go free. Free to find another way to make America pay. He was bloodied and bruised, but he was not yet broken. It might take two more decades, but he wouldn’t stop. Never. Not until he had his vengeance.
The oddest sensation permeated him, tiny hot pinpricks through his body. His skin itched, hands shook uncontrollably. Then his muscles seized in a violent convulsion.
He keeled over, his leaden arms unable to stop his cheek from slamming into the hard steel table. Eyes frozen open, he stared at the door. His heartbeat thundered in his ears and saliva pooled in his mouth. Searing flames spread through his heavy, useless limbs. He couldn’t move.
A neuromuscular paralytic drug must’ve been in the coffee. A precise dose that still enabled him to breathe and feel the torture of it working.
Heat crawled over him, like a thousand fire ants, biting and stinging, that he was helpless to swat away. The burn, oh, the burn…excruciating. He would’ve screamed under this agony if he’d been able.
The door opened again, and the same person returned. This time…wearing gloves.
You? You’re Cobalt?
A four-faced devil, who was willing to betray their country, lie, backstab colleagues, live a fake life filled with false smiles, pretending to be something they weren’t.
Not even Aleksander had ever stooped to such parasitic depths.
The pain worsened to a corrosive sizzle in the lining of his stomach, underneath his fingernails, and his eye sockets, but it was the least
of his current problems.
A gloved hand lifted Aleksander’s forearm. There was a flash of something familiar—his hotel keycard. Broken. The jagged piece of plastic ripped into his flesh as Cobalt sawed across his wrist. The rough edge snagged on his skin and tore open his veins in deep vertical gashes.
In minutes, he’d bleed out.
His arm was flicked to the table like a dead, smelly fish, and his other was raised.
Aleksander would’ve laughed if he could’ve. He’d wondered countless times how he would die someday. In a blaze of glory? Falling from a rooftop? A bullet in the face? Knife to his kidney? A garrote of someone else’s around his neck?
Cobalt planted the broken hotel keycard in Aleksander’s hand, picked up the coffee and box of doughnuts, and hustled out of the room.
Admittedly, Aleksander lacked the imagination to envision his own coldblooded murder staged to look like a suicide.
Would Agent Maddox Kinkade buy this charade?
Doubtful. But that was Cobalt’s problem—or better yet, the Gray Box’s.
Surely, there was more to Cobalt’s plan. Every good mole knew their luck would eventually run out. They used decoys, played the shell game with finesse, and always, always had a fail-safe in the event something went wrong. If they were smart.
Cobalt was very good, clever—hell, I never saw this shit coming—and had the support of the most powerful, merciless man Aleksander knew. And that was saying quite a lot.
Warmth leached from his limbs, and a deep weariness dragged at him.
Valmir? Would he be safe? His son knew nothing. Aleksander struggled to hang on, to cling a little longer for Val’s sake, but the crushing fatigue was stronger.
Bastard. Cobalt, I’ll be waiting for you with Levik down in hell to settle the score.
Darkness was a great gaping mouth, the pitch-black closing in, seeking to swallow him.
The bright faces of Sonia and Mila floated, shining through the looming void. In a park. They were running through the woods, laughing. Val was there, too, a little boy.
The sun was warm, so bright that everything glistened. He chased them, trying to catch up. Sonia reached out her hand, fingertips so close, he grazed softness. Beautiful softness.
Then they faded, their laughter dying. Echoing.
A crashing wave of shadows engulfed him in cold, empty darkness.
Order Juno Rushdan’s next book
in the Final Hour series
Nothing to Fear
On sale August 2019
Author’s Note
I love the Washington metropolitan area, which I currently call home. If you are familiar with the Capital Beltway, you might notice I altered some places, locations, and took a few liberties with minor details to suit the flow of the story. I did my best to retain as much authenticity as possible to depict the richness, diversity, and energy of the DMV (DC, Maryland, Virginia).
Read on for a sneak peek of the next book in the Final Hour series
NOTHING TO FEAR
Fearsome Gray Box operative Gideon Stone is devoted to his work and his team. He’s never given reason to doubt his loyalty…until he’s tasked with investigating Willow Harper, a beguiling cryptologist suspected of selling deadly bio-agents on the black market.
He knows she’s innocent. He knows she’s being framed. And he knows that without him, Willow will be dead before sunrise.
Thrust into the crossfire of an insidious international conspiracy, Gideon will do anything to keep Willow safe…even if that means waging war against his own. With time running out, an unlikely bond pushes limits—and forges loyalties. Every move they make counts. And the real traitor is always watching…
Chapter 01
Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia
Saturday, June 29, 9:58 p.m. EDT
Code name: Cobalt
The man locked in the interrogation room had to die tonight, or he’d ruin everything.
Most sins whispered in the darkness, but murder was a bullhorn echo in broad daylight. Under different circumstances, eliminating an assassin—a terrorist—would be hailed as just. But the avalanche of lies Cobalt had been telling—wearing two faces for so long neither were real, the depth of betrayal—could never be forgiven. Not that there had been a choice.
Dread burned in Cobalt’s chest, but determination overrode it. Killing Aleksander Novak wasn’t about money, ideology, or ego. This boiled down to something far more basic: survival.
Cobalt entered the mark’s personal identification number into the keypad on the server room door. The analyst was so trusting and never hid her PIN when she used it. If the entry log was checked later, and it would be, this breadcrumb would lead down a carefully planted trail.
Inside, Cobalt found the correct button on the control panel and shut off power in the currently unmanned observation room. The camera in Novak’s adjacent holding room was still on, but the surveillance feed was now dead. Nothing would be recorded.
How long would the window of opportunity last? Minutes?
There was zero margin for error. Novak had to be silenced permanently. The Gray Box could never learn the truth about Daedalus. Or me.
Cobalt walked at a brisk but steady pace toward the opposite end of the sprawling subterranean facility. Heart at a cold gallop, Cobalt risked a furtive over-the-shoulder glance.
Fear was a constant stalker, a cruel companion.
Rounding the corner to the main corridor, Cobalt braced for anything. Be empty.
No one loitered in the hall making small talk. Everyone was exhausted from the grueling mission, writing after-action reports, storing gear, eager to go home.
Cobalt slipped into the break room and released a heavy breath, fingers tingling from adrenaline. Don’t stop moving. Not a second to spare.
After pouring a cup of coffee, Cobalt dumped the poison in and stirred. The mushroom-colored granules dissolved and would only leave a mild aftertaste that’d be dismissed as a poor brew. Cobalt grabbed a box of doughnuts, hustled to the interrogation room, and opened the door.
Novak looked up, premature relief gleaming in his bloodshot eyes at the coffee and food he’d requested. Face bruised, chain restraints rattling, he had the nerve to flash a gloating smile.
Ignorant psychopath. Novak thought he was going to receive a get-out-of-jail-free card in the morning. Instead, he was getting an express ticket straight to hell. Cobalt set the items down, snuck a quick look into the hall—all clear—and chanced waiting outside.
Running into trouble here would mean game over. Thirty seconds for the poison to work, but it only took one sloppy second to get caught. Cobalt hid the rubber-band tension stretching every muscle taut, trying not to snap. Desperation set in and thickened. It was impossible to walk this tightrope forever, but right now, containing this disaster was all that mattered.
Cobalt put on latex gloves, withdrew a hotel keycard—swiped from Novak’s confiscated belongings before it was inventoried—snapped it in half, and ducked back into the room.
Now the messy part. Cobalt ignored Novak’s vacant stare and sawed the jagged edge of plastic across his wrists, his skin still warm. Deep vertical cuts along the radial arteries for a speedy bleed out. Blood flowed across the table, dripping on the tile floor into a pool.
The stage was set for what at first glance would appear to be a suicide. Outright murder would trigger an immediate lockdown of the facility and everyone would be detained.
Heart racing, mind clear, insides numb, Cobalt took the doughnuts and coffee for disposal.
Bruce Sanborn, director of the Gray Box, was a shrewd, careful man. The director would order an autopsy and begin counterintelligence polygraphs as soon as possible.
Both would take days, time Cobalt needed to set the fail-safe in motion. Shocking how easy it was to form a plan on the fly after hearing abo
ut Novak’s pending deal.
Then again, this wasn’t the first time Cobalt had plotted and killed to survive. And before this was finished, it wouldn’t be the last.
Chapter 02
Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia
Thursday, July 4, 5:25 p.m. EDT
Everyone has been polygraphed,” Gideon Stone said, flipping a switch to tint the conference room’s glass walls opaque, “and put under surveillance.”
“We still have nothing.” Strain leaked into Maddox Kinkade’s voice. Their team was undermanned and overwhelmed, stretched to the breaking point. “We won’t win playing this long game.”
Gideon sat at the touch screen table and brought up the final autopsy report, swiping through the digital pages. Conclusive results indicated homicide. A fast-acting poison that mimicked natural causes had killed Aleksander Novak, one so rare it was missed on the first toxicology panel.
Someone in his unit, someone they trusted with their lives, had murdered a suspect in custody—here in the ultrasecure facility right under their noses.
The obscene moxie that must’ve taken made Gideon’s blood simmer.
“We need to get up close and personal with each suspect.” Maddox looked around the table. “Run this to ground as quickly as possible.”
Only the six people sitting in that room had solid alibis for the estimated time of death and could be relied on without question. They were a close-knit crew and had been through the thick of it together.
“Let’s deal with Dad first,” Maddox said.
Slim odds that Bruce Sanborn, director of the Gray Box, was the leak. Dad, as they called him behind his back, cared too deeply about his people to endanger them. Still, they had to do their due diligence and investigate everyone who had access and opportunity, including the boss.
“Dad keeps secrets locked up tighter than gold in the Federal Reserve Bank,” Gideon said. “And he’s the best at tradecraft.”
“Who has balls big enough to take him?” Maddox asked.